


YOU WONT BELIEVE HOW THESE ASSHOLES FALL IN LOVE THIS TIME

by emef



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Clickbait, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reality TV, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-10-05 08:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10302653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emef/pseuds/emef
Summary: A self-referential britcom RPF saga with sexual infatuation, pining and fake relationships.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This fic spiralled out of twitter fic written with marginaliana back in may 2014, after she tweeted the photos from the 2014 BAFTAs.
> 
> 26.07.2017 note: I rewrote the first two chapters (the plot is unchanged, I just made the words better) so if you're rereading this and wondering what's different... well that's what's different. Hope you like ❤️

2014

“And I explained that it isn’t supposed to be ASPIRATIONAL. It’s a lesbian vampire web series.”

David nods, deadpan. “I can see why they wanted your input.”

Charlie hasn’t seen David in… who knows how long. Years, probably. But here he is, David Mitchell in the flesh, leaning on the back of Charlie’s chair like listening to him babble about his failures as an adult human is something he’s doing _on purpose_.

“They didn’t. Not about that. I only mentioned the sapphic bloodsucking because I thought it would distract them from how late I was.”

He’s trying to make David laugh. Trying, failing, trying again. He can’t help it; he falls into it, like the past five years never happened. He doesn't even know what he's saying, but David finally starts to smile.

“ _You_ ,” David drawls. “Late for a _meeting_? Never.”

Charlie makes a flappy gesture and their fingers brush. “I’ll have you know that the six minutes I kept them waiting were _crucial_ to the quality of my pitch.”

“So you _weren’t_ delayed by wanking.”

Charlie leans forward, and sees David’s hand flex on the back of the chair. “Certainly not. My interest in vampires is entirely professional, _David_.”

And there it is: a smile that reaches David’s eyes. Charlie can tell it’s real because David looks like he’s trying to hold it back. If this were a film, it would start in media res, with suggestions of things hidden just below the surface, and just enough hints to make viewers want to watch until they can parse the connotations. If this were a film, there would be a freeze frame, and a voice-over narration saying ‘yes, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.’

And this is a perfect film setting, Charlie thinks, at he looks up at David, and then lets his gaze slide up further, at the glittery ceiling decorations that are, presumably, meant to be Bafta-esque. He leans in to say so, but -

"Charlie," David says evenly, "are you aware that there is a photographer right there?" He pauses ever so briefly between the words _right_ and _there_.

"Er.” Charlie looks, and sees the camera. "Now I am? Is there..." He falters. "Is there a reason you're bringing that up?" 

"Just in case you were under some sort of impression that you were being subtle.”

David stares at him expectantly but says nothing. Charlie feels himself turn bright red. If this is a film, he thinks, this is when the voice-over would say ‘this all started when…’


	2. That time Charlie Brooker turned the fake relationships trope into a format.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [“Okay but instead of shipping the grumpy one with the cinnamon roll, imagine shipping two grumpy ones.”](http://petralemaitre.tumblr.com/post/153344673148/frog-and-toad-are-friends)

2009

Charlie never actually _planned_ to be late, but he might as well have. He stopped caring about being on time fairly early on. People with a genuine intention to be on time at nine a.m. meetings don’t attend house parties the night before. And they definitely don't argue with unknown party guests at one a.m.

“IT’S A GAME. You know it is. When a website says “YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT” or whatever it is, it’s a one-question quiz. A one-question _game_.”

The party guest - large plastic-frame glasses, holding a triangular cocktail glass like a character in a comic strip - responds enthusiastically. “Yes! That is exactly what clickbait is. Which is great! An absolute _feat_ of marketing.”

“But it contributes NOTHING!” Charlie bellows. “Marketing is an interesting discipline in terms of facilitating communication because it grabs the attention of the unwashed masses.” He’s full of shit. “But in the case of clickbait it does nothing but add a click. It’s not facilitating communication, it’s facilitating extra steps to communication.”

Plastic-Frame Cocktail Man cocks his head. “You wouldn’t mind clickbait if people were clicking through to meaningful content, though.”

“I wouldn’t mind it if they were clicking through to something that would competently distract them from their _chronically lonely lives_.”

Plastic Cocktail smiles like he’s enjoying himself. “First of all, Charlie, advertising itself might distract them from their chronically lonely lives,” Christ, they’re on uneven name-knowledge footing. “And second, the internet’s job isn’t to solve the Global Loneliness Crisis.”

Now that’s an idea. “Now that’s an idea. THE GLOBAL LONELINESS CRISIS: IS IT REAL.”

Plastic-Frame giggles into his drink. “Now _that_ , you see, I would click on that.” 

“Has Capitalism Ruined Your Emotional Well-Being? CLICK HERE”

“Twenty-Three Ways Clickbait Has Annoyed You: Here's Why!” Plastic-Frame grins. His eyes flicker down to Charlie’s mouth briefly. Are they flirting?

Does he _want_ them to be flirting? “Grown Man Periodically Experiences The Human Condition. What Happens Next WILL ASTOUND YOU”

Pitching forward, Plastic-Frame laughs so hard that his drink spills on the carpet. “Oh, dear.”

“Ah.” And Charlie knows that no, he doesn’t want them to be flirting. It isn’t that funny.

Plastic-Frame says something about… Something. He seems mortified, but also perplexed, as though waiting for Charlie to do something. And then, before Charlie registers that Plastic-Frame is waiting for Charlie to offer to help with the drink spill, the man melts away into the party crowd.

At which point Charlie is just standing there, blinking in the crowd’s general direction, the party droning on before him. Maybe he should go home and write something about the global loneliness crisis. Or try to find people he wants to talk to, rather than just people he doesn’t _mind_ talking to.

Or maybe he should just find something to drink.

He hears a nasal voice.

“Hello, Charlie.” David Mitchell, standing at his shoulder, is holding two bottles. He hands one over. Charlie takes it, wondering - not for the first time - whether thinking about something has made it spontaneously appear. _If only I could harness this power_.

David gestures in the direction of Charlie’s vanished interlocutor. “Chasing away the locals, I see.”

“Well not _specifically_.”

“Only generally?”

“I never chase them away, I will have you know. What I do is act sufficiently unsettling to make them leave all by themselves.”

“Right.”

“I like to leave the actual choice of leaving to them.” Charlie had said, waving his drink around. “It’s a kind of independent decision-making I foster in the people I chase away.”

“Excellent. I look forward to being repulsed.”

Charlie explains about clickbait titles and David smiles vaguely. He often smiles vaguely when he isn't performing. Like he once sat at home practicing an attentive listening face, and now it’s his default setting. In any case, he looks like he’s paying attention.

David Mitchell’s eyes are so dark that they seem to be two huge pupils; when he isn’t speaking, it’s impossible to tell whether he is interested, or only polite. Charlie can’t guess whether he’s captivated by Charlie’s opinions on clickbait titles, or whether this is some kind of car crash situation in which David is unable to look away as Charlie says embarrassing thing after embarrassing thing.

“Ah,I see.” David answers eventually. “You’ll Never Guess Why THIS Englishman Is Repressed: CLICK HERE and all that.”

“Twelve Ways Your Coworkers DO Detect Your Barely-Concealed Contempt For Them.”

“This Comedian Had A Genuinely Original Sketch Idea. What happened next WILL SHOCK YOU.”

As the evening wears on, Charlie turns his conversation with David into a sort of extreme sport, in which he keeps saying things without running them through coherence and interestingness filters, recklessly ignoring his fear of boring his audience. He just keeps talking. And talking.

“And really when you think about it, we’re bankrupting our future selves for a brief distraction. Our attention spans, our capacity for rational thought, our self-esteem - all jeopardized for the brief pleasure clickbait _might_ bring. It’s like - it’s like the pablum that is reality television, or nauseating romantic drama.”

“Bankrupting our future selves, got it.”

“THINK of the outrageous volume of media catering to the public _gagging_ for unrealistically good-looking people in period clothing making sordid eye contact at each other, pining in silence from across meticulously decorated drawing rooms, accidentally brushing fingers, making stray glances and -“ Charlie finds himself waving his hands wildly in the air. “Mistakenly believing their infatuations are unrequited for _the entire length of a miniseries_ , during which the public watches, with open-mouthed, eager, no, urgent anticipation -”

David blinks. “Sordid eye contact?”

“…the seemingly infinite, soul-rending, excruciating heartache of… oh, yes.” David’s question registers. “As you may have noticed, romantic dramas use intense eye contact as a recurring theme.” David starts to wander off, and Charlie panics.

But then a moment later David returns and hands Charlie a fresh drink. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. That isn’t a pun, by the way.”

Charlie smiles involuntarily. “David Mitchell. Are you mocking my inane blather about intense eye contact by telling me that you _see_ my point?”

“No,” David answers, deadpan.

*

When Charlie lurches into Sam’s office the following morning, only four minutes and twenty-two seconds late, he considers it a miracle. Anyway the truth is, he isn’t worried about lateness. He’s worried that he doesn’t have a pitch for Sam.

“Look,” he says, before Sam even says hello. “I’m a pile of steaming shit.”

Sam pushes a cup of coffee towards him. “Go on.”

“But I think I’m not the only one.”

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“And I want to harness the viewership of the steaming piles of shit of the world.”

Something about the look in Sam’s eyes is unsettling. “Relax, Charlie. If you show up late to a meeting and then have nothing good to pitch, it’s not like there’ll be any lasting impact on your career.”

Charlie nearly chokes on his coffee. The words ‘WHAT HAPPENED NEXT WILL ASTOUND YOU’ float through his mind.

“So I’ve been thinking about… Distracting people from their chronically lonely lives?”

“That’s fortunate.”

“I’ve also been thinking about… clickbait.”

“Click…bait.”

“Yes. Yes!” Charlie pauses, certain that the fact that he’s about to pull an entire pitch straight out of his ass is written all over his face. “Clickbait works because it offers the satisfaction of playing a one-question game, and… romantic comedies grab viewers in a remarkably reliable way.”

There is a lengthy silence.

“Think about target audiences, grabbing viewers, what keeps them coming back, and all of that - you know how, even when people know exactly how a romcom will end, they keep watching it anyway? No matter how trite the scenario. You simultaneously know, and don’t know, what’s going to happen. You know the parameters, but you need to watch to know the details.”

Sam lifts his cup and sips, placidly. He is totally unreadable.

“You need to watch to access the emotional payoff.” Charlie continues.

The light filtering through the window is soft, a gentle reminder that it is daytime. The room smells like coffee. Charlie takes a sip before continuing to word vomit.

“There’s something about the game of it. The interplay between what the viewer knows will happen and the unanswered question of how it will happen. There’s something about the comforting reliableness of the pattern together with the unknown aspect - that’s what it shares with clickbait. You know, roughly, what you’re going to find when you click on a clickbait title through to an article. The unknown is whether you’re going to care as much as the clickbait titles implies you might.

“Clickbait and romantic comedies.”

“Yes and - “ Charlie’s brain suddenly - he is so utterly panicked that he experiences a kind of mild aneurism. “Lesbians.”

There is a lengthy silence.

“People pretending to be lesbians, or actual lesbians. Or fake real lesbians.”

“I’m sorry - fake real lesbians?”

"Characters in a film who are meant to actually be lesbian, not faking it, but who don't act anything like lesbians in the real world because they're constructed by men, for the male gaze."

“Clickbait, romantic comedies, lesbians.”

“I’m not thinking of lesbians as such, more - the idea, the question of the authenticity of -“

“Their lesbianism?”

“Their romantic relationship. I think…”

“Charlie,” Sam removed his eyeglasses. “Are you - incredibly inarticulately - trying to tell me that you want to write a _queer romantic comedy_?”

“No?” Charlie tries to interject.

“Actually -“ Sam ignores him, blinks, sits back. “D’you know, that would be interesting.”

“I was just thinking Screenwipe about romcoms.”

“Something about you being the very last person anyone would think of, for romance -“ Sam doesn’t seem to hear a word Charlie is saying.

“Although -“ Charlie says, “maybe a segment? Like a serial within the programme.”

“With fake lesbians. I mean - real lesbians.”

Charlie laughs. “Real Or Fake Lesbians? Now that would be a popular segment.”

Sam’s jaw drops. “Charlie.”

Time stops. Charlie basks in Sam’s look of appreciation. Various sections of his brain high five each other. 

Then reality returns. “Oh - no one would agree to do it.”

“I suppose.” Sam sighs. “What else did you have for me?”

“No, no wait, if it isn’t specifically - how about putting two people in front of the camera and asking viewers: real or fake _couple_?”

“Tell me more?”

“Like a reality show segment! You film two people - or more, why not, polyamory is in the news isn’t it? - in their daily lives, edit it down to ten minutes, then ask viewers ‘are they a real couple, or did we make it up?’”

Charlie starts thinking out loud. “Because when you think about it - people are affected, whether they realize it or not, by the authenticity, or the appearance of authenticity, of the emotions they’re seeing onscreen.“ Distantly, Charlie’s brain registers that he definitely has Sam’s attention. “We could boil it down to a one-question guessing game.”

“I liked the lesbians better, but fair enough. We hire two people, here on BBC Four, film them for a few days, broadcast it, and then ask viewers ‘are we a couple or are we just friends. Or siblings. Or strangers.’”

“Yes. And add reviews, stories, and commentary about romantic comedies.”

“Who are you thinking?

“Ah.” Charlie scrambled for ideas. “Could be anyone? Two people off the street, honestly -“ He sees the interest in Sam’s eyes wane dangerously. “Or… if I could convince them… Sue Perkins and Giles Coren, say. Or, no! better, Sue Perkins and Sandi Toksvig.”

Sam’s interest returns. “If you could convince them.”

“Any two people who make you think, ‘maybe? But surely not?’”

“Send me a list.”

“It would be even funnier if they were unlikeable,” Charlie says, mind still running. “

“Convince me.”

“It might - it might even be _me_ up there with, I don’t know, _David Mitchell_ or someone.”

And that’s when Sam laughs. Actually _laughs_. He slaps his hands on the table, throws his head back, and laughs. It would be unsettling, except that Charlie doesn’t feel mocked - he feels as though he just definitely made up for being late to the meeting.

“You see?” Charlie points at him. “You’re amused. Now what if I asked you, completely seriously, whether you thought I was romantically involved with a man. Isn’t there at least a part of you that’s thinking ‘…is he?’ Wouldn’t you watch another twenty minutes of television to find out?”

“You have me there, Charlie, I would. You and David Mitchell are both such utter misanthropes that something as _optimistic_ as love is out of the question for either of you separately, let alone together.”

“People love speculating about couples, Sam! I just want to turn that into a format.”

“Screenwipe for relationships.”

“Yes.”

“Relationshipwipe.”

“Yes.”

Sam sits back. “What’ll you do to keep it interesting for more than a couple of series?” He says it like commissioning one series is a given, and Charlie realizes he’s just talked himself out of his ass and into a job. Again.

*

2009

At first, everything goes well. He calls David after lunch and says he’s gotten a pitch approved. David’s voice is gravelly and he seems distracted, but when Charlie says the words ‘romantic’ and ‘comedy’ David bursts out laughing.

The sound of his laughter spurs Charlie on and he finds himself explaining that this television concept of his had not, in fact, existed until approximately nine thirty that morning.

“And I need to ask you to be in the show.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Charlie tries to describe the birth of the idea, panicked shock, fear for career, etc.

“I commend your commitment to continued employment, Charlie,” David says. “But -” He made a sound like he was stretching and yawning simultaneously. “Making a romcom seems a bit extreme.”

“Well, yes, but is it so extreme that you won’t do it?”

A heavy sigh comes, loud and clear, over the telephone. “Look, why don’t you tell me about your pitch over a pint?”

“What, now?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Right. Yes.” A beat. “You’re very confident I have no evening plans.”

“Of course I am, you told me yesterday that you spent all of your evenings shouting at your television.”

“Ah.”

Charlie really feels, after that conversation, that David is probably going to say yes, and this ludicrous project will start to take shape. But five hours later - a full hour after the meeting time they’d agreed on - it’s all going wrong.

It isn’t the lateness. David knows him enough for it not to be a surprise. They’ve never really made plans together, but Charlie’s perpetual state of last-minute-ness is well known. isn’t it?

No. It isn’t the lateness that is making everything seem wrong, Charlie is sure of it. It is something else. It is the lighting, or something about the smells coming in from the kitchen. It is the set of David’s shoulders. It is the blank face he is making while Charlie inarticulately explains everything.

“Who else are you thinking for it?” David asked politely, which would be a great moment to launch into a dithyramb about David’s qualities - who could ever think of casting anyone else, etc - except that Charlie isn’t… he just can’t think. He just stares at David’s hands - the left one resting on the table, the other on his glass, fingers wrapped around it.

“We need to cast someone interesting but who seems like they would never be cast in a romantic comedy, and -”

“So literally anyone who isn’t unrealistically attractive, white, middle-class and heterosexual?”

The thing with David Mitchell, Charlie thinks, is that he says perceptive things just often enough that it never becomes expected. His incisiveness is pleasant surprise every time.

“Yes! Yes. Exactly. And you would be particularly compelling. I’ve always thought you were underused as an actor.”

“Flattery will get you anywhere, Charlie, but you still haven’t told me who you’re thinking of casting against me.”

The other shoe drops. “Oh, Christ.”

“Bloody hell. What kind of comic relief nightmare do you have in mind?”

“When Sam asked for example, I said -” Charlie falters. He can’t look David in the eye as he says it. “As an _example_ , what I told him was, you and me.”

Something complicated happens to David’s face. “You what?”

“Sam really likes the idea -” Charlie falters, again.

“Charlie.” David sighs and stands. He walks off. Nightmare.

When Charlie had thought of it initially, calling up David Mitchell to ask if he would mind doing a few days of filming in which they go around telling people they’re a couple seemed like a broadly reasonable thing to do. It honestly hadn’t seemed crazy at all. It had seemed like a silly, unexpected, and perhaps interesting idea, and after the initial shock of Sam’s insistence on casting David had worn off, Charlie had started to rather like it.

Charlie doesn’t watch David go. He lowers his head down on the table and bangs it, softly, over and over. The table is slightly sticky. He feels so tired all of a sudden.

When he feels movement in front of the table, he assumes it’s someone from the pub come to tell him to please take his self-loathing elsewhere. But it isn’t, it’s David sitting down with a fresh pint. For himself. He drinks half of it down, and then speaks.

“Is the show commission conditional on my involvement?”

“No!” Charlie sputters.

“You haven't promised Sam anything.”

“No. I’d rather have you for the first episode, but I can talk him into booking someone else.”

“You’d rather have -” David falters, then shakes his head. He clears his throat. “Only one episode?”

“Yes. There would be different guests afterwards.”

David chokes on his beer. He sputters and spills it down his front, and he seems to have gotten some up his nose. Charlie rushes forward with a handful of napkins. It would be funny - it _should_ be funny - but it really isn’t.

When he’s finished coughing, David gasps, “Different guests all _pretending to be in a relationship with you_?”

“CHRIST, no. No. Different couples. All sorts of people. I’ll send you the treatment.” He swallows. “When I’ve finished writing it.”

*

 

2009

“Are we thinking you and David are living together?”

“I… don’t know? Maybe not. Maybe he has clothes and toothbrush at mine. More… believable?” Charlie blinks. “Do we want believable?”

“It’s your show, Charlie. I just need to know the number of filming locations.”

“Because it isn’t a game. That is, it is, but it isn’t Would I Lie To You.”

“How many filming locations, Charlie?”

“Two, but make them my living room and my neighbourhood pub. We’ll say David always comes to mine because he doesn't want to bother his flatmate.”

A sudden image of David’s flatmate - whom Charlie has never met, but immediately imagines with wire-rim glasses and a threadbare cardigan - distracts Charlie to the point of completely missing what Sam says next. He only hears:

“Mitchell’s done this before, right?”

What time is it, Charlie wonders? Is it time to go home? If this were a television show he could just say GO AWAY, which would be succinct, but also iconoclastic and witty.

“Charlie. Mitchell’s done this before, right?”

“Sorry?”

“He kissed Robert Webb on Peep Show, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did.” Charlie says, the implication only hitting him a minute later. The implication that Sam is thinking of him and David kissing on camera. “Should he and I kiss?”

“Charlie,” Sam’s exasperation is palpable. “It’s your show. You were the one going on about fake lesbians.”

“Bloody hell.” Charlie sits back. “You’re right.”

Sam _is_ right. And David must’ve kissed men, and he’s probably expecting it now. Maybe that’s why he was reacting so strangely when Charlie asked him to be on the show.

“This’ll be new,” he tells Sam. “I’ve never kissed a man.”

“Haven’t you?”

*

David calls him the next day, and before he can say anything, Charlie asks. “Did you rehearse kissing Rob? On Peep Show?”

“I - No.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t supposed to look like we’d done it before.”

“Right.” Visuals of David and Rob kissing at university, which had been on Charlie’s mind since the day before, disappear, replaced with visuals of David kissing nameless - possibly willowy - Cambridge students. He pushes them out of his mind by trying to remember what he’d thought of that episode of Peep Show. If he’d been the one writing it, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have written a kiss. It wouldn’t have occurred to him.

“Charlie.” He hears David say. “You’ve planned a kiss, for Relationshipwipe. Is that why you’re calling?”

“If it’s okay with you.”

“And you want to rehearse it.”

“D’you think we should?”

“I wouldn’t have imagined that believability is vital on a show called ‘Relationshipwipe’ but...” David’s voice suddenly changes tone; he sounds thoughtful. “I suppose it would be funnier if it hit the right… if it is a very specific kind of awkward. The discomfort isn’t the kiss itself, it’s the fact that it’s in front of a camera.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone on camera.” Charlie says it quickly.

“Yes, yes exactly, that’s much funnier.”

“I’ve never kissed a man either.” Charlie adds.

“Ah.”

 

*

It’s only when Charlie’s doorbell rings and he opens the door to find David on the other side that Charlie first truly grasps what’s about to happen.

This all started as an inexplicable reaction to career panic and then it kept going and then Charlie actually pitched it to David and David agreed and Charlie can't explain why except that he suspects that, like himself, David wants use society’s appetite for romance while simultaneously critiquing it. People like romance but only if it fits a certain paradigm. People like minorities but only as supporting characters. People like lesbians but only if they’re young and photogenic. People like homoerotic tension but only if it comes with plausible deniability. The urge to point and rant is inescapable really. But _actually kissing each other_ for it? Really? They’re really going to do that?

“Actually,” David says when Charlie brings it up, “once I read the treatment, I really liked the idea because -”

“Wait, you liked it?”

“Don't be so surprised, Charlie, I do think you’re competent.”

“Even I don’t think I’m competent.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Look, I was going to tell you that my interest in your idea is partly because of Rob.”

“ _Rob_?”

“I mean, please don’t tell him I said this, but I’ve always thought I failed him.”

“ _Really_?”

“He told me he is bisexual ages ago, and I… I was a contrarian who didn't want to have gay experiences at university - it was _so expected_ , Charlie - but in retrospect I wish I hadn't implied to my closest friend that the gender of one's partner is something one chooses as a flippant statement about societal expectations.”

Visuals of David kissing lithe Cambridge youths again. Charlie shakes his head to make the image go away. It never happened, which means -

“So you’ve never…?”

David raises an eyebrow. “Is the disclosure of my sexual history a requirement to be a guest on your show, Charlie?”

“Ah. No. Sorry.”

They set up a camera, and decide on kissing standing up, the idea for the scene being that they are two people who would never do such a thing in front of an audience, but have decided on it now, to make a point of it. David stands by the counter and talks about an Argentine film called Plan B while Charlie checks the angle.

“It was showing at the London Film Festival. Have you heard of it?”

“No, why?”

“It’s about a man who decides to seduce a man to get a girl’s attention.”

Charlie barks out a laugh. “Brilliant. Does it work?”

“Yes and no. But there’s a scene in a kitchen - one character convinces the other to kiss him to prepare for an audition, except there’s no audition.”

Charlie freezes, his finger on top of the red RECORD button. “Err. There _is_ an actual Relationshipwipe show, just in case you were…”

“And here I thought this is all a ploy to seduce me.” David deadpans.

Even if he hadn’t been so nervous, David’s delivery would have gotten a laugh from Charlie, but as it is, his giggle has a touch of hysteria. This situation shouldn’t feel so absurd - it’s show business! Kissing people for work isn’t strange! - but it _feels_ preposterous. When he manages to stop laughing, Charlie is gasping for air.

“Look,” he says, wiping a tear. “It’s not too late to change your mind, I mean -“

“Charlie,” Davis says, his voice ever so slightly higher than normal. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Charlie hits the little red RECORD button, moves into David’s space, and does just that.

He doesn’t know any other way to kiss, so he kisses David like he means it. He closes his eyes and shoves his face towards David’s face. As he does it, he has enough presence of mind to angle his face correctly for the camera, but when he pushes his mouth against David’s his brain fuzzes out; he couldn’t think even if he wanted to. He couldn’t decide on the best way to kiss; where to put his hands; what noises to make and when.

David pushes him away after a moment. One of Charlie’s hands is on the side of David’s jaw and the other in his hair, but both of David’s hands are on Charlie’s chest, firmly putting distance between them. Charlie blinks down at them, and then looks up into David’s eyes. They’re dark, they’re - _twin pools of inky black_ , his brain supplies. They’re looking at Charlie in confusion and… And hesitation, maybe.

“Right. Let’s review the footage.”

In the camera Charlie sees two middle-aged men careening awkwardly toward one another and vaguely mashing their heads together. They look… ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well I’m not saying you’re _un_ kind.”
> 
> “Of course not.” David says, ironic. “You’re saying something far more reasonable, which is that you like me because of my blank expression. Because it _stops you being bored_.”

2009

So Charlie Brooker and David Mitchell are having a kissing rehearsal. First observation: they look ridiculous. Somehow, Charlie thinks, he should have seen this coming.

“Brutal,” he comments.

In the video, the two of them lumber towards each other and push their heads together. It’s excruciating to watch. It’s not just that they don’t look natural - it’s that they’re not. Well. Photogenic.

“A show about people who unusually good looking, you said.”

“What was I thinking?”

David turns, and answers slowly, like he’s speaking to a child. “That it’s not supposed to look good, it’s supposed to look intimate?”

There’s something slightly shocking about the revelation that someone understands your idea more than you do. Isn't it enough that David is better at acting and sketch writing? Must he be perceptive and thoughtful as well?

Charlie realizes that he’s staring at David, and instead of stopping, he lets his eyes flicker down to David’s mouth. It’s a brighter shade of red than usual. Grimly determined, Charlie resets the camera and bends down to kiss him again.

“Charlie,” David jerks out of his way. “You have to angle your face towards the camera.”

“Oh, right.” He turns. “Like this?”

“Yes.”

Carefully keeping that angle, he closes his eyes and tries to… somehow… _project_ intimacy as he bends down towards David.

When they check the video, it _is_ slightly less appalling, and Charlie wants to see if he can do even better.

“Can we try it again a few times?”

When they go at it a third time, Charlie tries to think of David as someone special, someone… someone precious. He _is_ precious, really, he… he’s too good for a project of Charlie’s, honestly. He’s spending his evening here kissing Charlie’s horse face, just as a favour - why would he do that? It’s almost like he _wants_ to spend time with Charlie. Charlie suddenly feels amazed by the existence of David Mitchell, and that’s when David cuts off the kiss.

“Right.” David’s cheeks are pink.

“Right.”

They do it again. In the next take, when Charlie breaks the kiss and moves away, David moves with him, his eyes still closed. It’s only a small movement, but in the recording it looks like he doesn’t want Charlie to move away.

“Oh that’s good,” Charlie comments, when they watch it. “That’ll definitely look intimate.”

*

On the first day of filming, Charlie stands near David and tries to think, if he and David were in a romantic relationship, is this how he would stand? Would David want him to stand here? Would he put his arm around Charlie, if they were in love, or would he want Charlie to put his arm around _him_?

The production assistant, Julia, makes Charlie put on an apron when they tape some bits in his kitchen.

“I don't normally wear an apron, to be honest.”

“You own an apron but don't wear it? Is it meant to be decorative?” David says.

Julia interjects, “it really works, visually. Makes you look adorable.”

“Is that what we're going for?” Charlie asks. “Adorable?”

David gently touches Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re always adorable to me.”

“What’s this? Are you… getting into character?”

Before Charlie can do anything to stop it, David has picked up the apron and put it on him, and then wrapped his arms around Charlie to tie it. “Intimacy, I think you said.”

“I… what?”

“For what we were going for.”

“Thank you, David,” Julie says, barely looking up from her clipboard. So it was for the camera.” Good job hitting the light. We’ll do questions next.”

“Oh Christ I forgot to tell you,” Charlie says, turning to David. “We’re meant to answer questions. About how we met and that.”

Julie calls out. “Can you put your arm around David?”

David turns as Charlie wraps an arm around him, and says, “Shall we get out stories straight?”

“Does it matter? If we fuck up we’ll just cut around it.” Charlie asks, stroking David’s shoulder with his thumb.

David snuggles closer. “I should have thought that if _other things_ mattered enough to merit rehearsal, a basic timeline wouldn't be overkill.”

“Alright,” Charlie exclaims. “What do you need to know?”

“When did you declare yourself?”

“When did I - how do you know YOU didn't declare yourself to ME?”

“I would never do that. At most, I might've gotten pissed and -” David pushes his weight against Charlie, as though demonstrating. “Lunged.”

“Oh. Let’s say that happened.”

“Alright, when? When did I lunge?”

“Bloody hell, I don't know.”

“And when did we move in together?”

“I don’t know?! You ask so many questions.”

“It’s YOUR SHOW, Charlie.”

“Christ. You’re like one of my girlfriends.”

“Yes, Charlie. I am, currently, EXACTLY like one of your girlfriends.”

“Well if you’re going to be LOGICAL.”

Once they’ve settled on a timeline of their love - while a crew of 40 people watches on the monitor - they answer questions for an hour. At the end, Julia, who is reading out the question cards, asks, “what you like about each other?”

“David understands my ideas better than I do.” The words leave Charlie’s mouth before he even knows what he’s going to say. “And I’ve never been bored talking to him.”

David swivels around to look at him.

“You always look at me like - like that.” Charlie says, gesturing.

“Like…?”

“I can never tell if you're interested in what I’m saying,” Charlie continues. “Or just polite.”

“Some people, Charlie, like their significant others because they’re kind, or because they make them laugh.”

“Well I’m not saying you’re _un_ kind.”

“Of course not.” David says, ironic. “You’re saying something far more reasonable, which is that you like me because of my blank expression. Because it _stops you being bored_.”

“No! No that’s not -” Intimate. They have to look intimate. “Your blank expression makes me feel like I can never take your interest in me for granted! You look at me that like that and it makes me want to impress you, alright, _David_?”

Something in David’s eyes shifts, but before Charlie can give that any thought, Julie turns to David and asks,

“When did you know that you wanted to be with Charlie?”

Not missing a beat, David looks into the camera and says, “when I found that it was the only way to shut him up.”

*

When they kiss for the camera, they only need to do three takes. For the first one, David pushes Charlie against the kitchen counter and pulls him down. For the second, they do the exact same thing from another angle. But for the third, Charlie whispers “let me lead, alright?” And ends up gently cradling David’s jaw and kissing him gently. He hears himself sigh as he does it and thinks: intimate.

They call it a day after that. The entire crew packs up and leaves his flat, cheerfully waving to David and Charlie as though the two of them really did live here together and had just had a television crew over for tea.

Charlie feels odd, and it takes him a minute to realize that what he’s feeling is the absence of last minute panic. Production is on schedule, and he has no other deadlines hanging over him. He isn’t even sleep-deprived. It’s very strange.

“Very strange.”

“What?”

“Production is on schedule and I have no other deadlines.”

David looks impressed, which is gratifying. “Has that ever happened to you before?”

“No. You?”

“A few times. Never knew what to do with myself.”

“Pint?”

“Gladly.”

Charlie is still wearing the apron and they’re standing close together, like they have done since they started filming. Their hands have been bumping together so often that Charlie doesn't consciously register it anymore. It’s - intimate.

He is - Charlie thinks, he’s seen David nearly every day ever since this project started, and he isn’t even remotely tired of it. Even when he’s negotiating scene improvisation. Possibly _especially_ when he’s negotiating scene improvisation. He should be sick of him, by now, but he isn’t.

He thinks this, and then - one minute Charlie is listening to David’s comments about production deadlines, and then next, he’s leaning in and kissing him. It just seems natural. Leaning in to kiss David seems… it’s like Charlie can’t remember why he wouldn’t do that.

He doesn't get far before David pushes him away. “No, wait, Charlie, the camera isn’t running.” But Charlie leans in further and fits his mouth to David’s, wanting somehow to build a cocoon that fits only the two of them in which no one else will intrude. He tries to kiss David, to move his body against David’s, so that he’ll know this. And when he runs his hands down David’s back, David kisses back. 

“ _Oh_.” He sighs, the arousal a shock.

David groans into his mouth. “ _Yeah_.”

The kiss isn’t any different from the others, Charlie can't help noticing. Except that David is making more noises, and guiding Charlie backwards. And Charlie is trying to take David’s clothes off. Which is complicated because the button/buttonhole configuration of David’s shirt is the wrong way around.

Charlie is still struggling with the top button when David breaks away. “Right. I think - I might go home, actually.”

The trouble, of course, is that Charlie’s brain stopped functioning at some point. David’s departure seems abrupt and lacking a motive, but who is Charlie to judge? “Oh. Of course. Yes. This isn’t what I - I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

*

In the morning, Charlie wakes up from a dream that - it isn’t a wet dream, except it feels like it is. In it, he was in a school and he kept seeing the same person looking at him. Looking at him like - like that girl in The Godfather, the one in Sicily who never says a word until after she and Michael Corleone are married. That’s the dream: someone staring at Charlie.

He went to sleep with all his clothes still on, only stopping to pull off his shoes. He moves his hips up and down and feels his erection rubbing up against his clothes. He pushes up against his trousers, and then he pulls them down and palms himself, stroking up and down. Still swimming in the sensation of his dream.

It’s quiet, he can barely hear any sounds from the street. He can only hear his breathing getting louder and more ragged. When he’s close, he reaches up to pull the covers down, and that’s when his hand brushes up against the buttons on his shirt.

Suddenly he’s feeling the buttons of David’s shirt, from yesterday, under his fingers, David’s face is swimming to the surface of his mind, and Charlie is coming so hard that his toes tingle. It feels incredible. He cries out, and the sound reverberates off the walls of his bedroom.

When he opens his eyes, he finds that he’s shot semen halfway up his chest. “Bloody hell. I’ve regressed to adolescence.”

*

Once, for a laugh, Charlie and Aisleyne changed their facebooks statuses to ‘It’s Complicated.’ Secretly, Charlie had thought the gesture made a point about labels and the sheep-like behaviour of people online, but of course, when people asked, he and Aisleyne claimed it was for ‘research’ - which is something you can do once you’ve written something that appeared on television, apparently - and giggled about it afterwards.

Charlie thinks about this a lot, after kissing David in his kitchen. Never in his life would he have imagined that his relationship to another human could be described so well by the words ‘it’s complicated.’ But when he is with David, he imagines the words floating above them, following them wherever they go.

They see each other regularly in the months after filming, but they never make plans. They always happen to be together. They kiss in odd places, in odd moments, always fleeting and impulsive and so sexual that Charlie finds himself drifting through his daily life in varying states of arousal, unable to think. But they never go any further. David has a roommate Charlie can’t picture himself facing, and he can’t seem to form the words to ask David back to his flat. So they meet to have coffee and kiss each other in dark corners, and sometimes they’re booked for the same show and they kiss in dressing rooms.

Which _must_ be the most show business thing Charlie has ever done.

In September their Relationshipwipe episode airs, and the phone-in vote is a success on a bigger scale than even Sam had hoped for. Real or fake relationship, they ask viewers, while Charlie and David stand in front of the cameras, watching the votes come in.

To Charlie, it feels somehow like people aren’t really voting to find out whether they’re a couple. Rather, they’re looking at them together, and voting for or against. He wonders what he would vote, if given the chance.

Julie waits nearby with a clipboard and a radio. And when she gets the signal, hilariously, the results are very close to 50-50. But before Charlie can decide how he feels about that, there is a microphone in his face and Julia is asking -

“Well, Charlie, tell us: are you and David really in love, or are you faking it for the cameras?”

Even if they were involved, Charlie realizes, he’d have to say they weren’t. Otherwise it would take attention away from the real point of the show. It would make the show about their joint coming out.

“Obviously,” he says, reaching out to hold David’s hand, “we’re faking it for the cameras.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie didn’t know being weak to the knees was something that actually physically happened to people.

***

For six weeks after that, he doesn’t run into David. He’s overrun with deadlines and new projects, and with calls about the show, which is really well-received. He doesn't really notice the lack of David in his life, except for one Wednesday afternoon when he turns the television on and sees a repeat of Mitchell and Webb, and distantly thinks, ‘I wonder what David is doing’ and ‘that Cyrano de Bergerac costume looks good on him.’ But he doesn't call. 

The next time he sees him is at Jonathan Ross’s Halloween party. Charlie is late, even for him. He spots David from his posture alone, and feels a great big… Something. Something happening to his chest.

He bloody _misses him_. Misses David Mitchell. In a sort of… _emotional_ way.

David is dressed as a vampire. They don't say hello properly. They only look across the room at each other and nod. But they don't say anything.

It’s only when Charlie is in the middle of a conversation about zombie tropes that he realizes David has drifted to his side of the room. And then there they are. Standing next to each other.

Someone bumps into Charlie and he’s pushed into David’s space. He feels the warmth of David’s body and the way he smells, and the sense memory is violent. Charlie knows what it's like to feel David’s body moving against his, and right now, that's all he can think about. He _missed him_. And also - perhaps more urgently - he _wants him_. 

Someone androgynous, in a full Marie-Antoinette corset, dress, and wig - but no makeup, which somehow makes them look more fetching - is looking at them, and Charlie is sure that his erection must be visible to absolutely everyone. But Unknown Gender Marie-Antoinette says,

“I really enjoyed your show.”

David goes full public schoolboy. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

“I liked how the Are They Or Aren't They segment isn’t played for laughs - it is more like a detective story.”

Charlie basks in the compliment. “That’s what I wanted it to be, actually.”

“I’ve seen the other episodes since, and they’re all very enjoyable.”

“Thank you.”

“Not that any of the other fake couples had your… authenticity.”

“Well, David is a very good actor.”

When Marie-Antoinette leaves the rest of the group has dispersed, leaving only Charlie and David. Both their glasses are empty, Charlie notices, but neither one of them moves towards the bar. David looks up at Charlie curiously, as though waiting to see what he’ll do. Charlie wonders what he’ll do, as well.

He points at their glasses. “Same again?”

David takes him several seconds to answer. He looks up at Charlie, and his expression doesn't change; he barely even blinks. Charlie doesn't know what it means. But then, just as the silence is about to become unsettling, David says, “alright then.”

Four drinks later they’re reenacting scenes from any vampire film Charlie can think of. They've attracted a small crowd, though they are by no means the centre of attention at the party. Charlie, with an outfit pieced together from bits of costumes from other guests, is playing the ingénue vampire victims. David plays the vampires.

“How old are you?”

“…Seventeen?” David has clearly never seen Twilight. Or heard of it.

“How long have you been seventeen?”

“… _A while_.”

“I know what you are.”

David’s voice, when he says the next line, is sort of… quietly formidable. In a surprisingly commanding way. “Say it. Out loud.”

“Vampire.” Charlie mock-swoons. David would make a great vampire.

Someone nearby slow-claps, and Charlie beams. This is the most fun he’s had in - years, possibly. He grabs David’s hand and they bow theatrically.

“As gratified as I am by this applause,” David says, “I feel compelled to specify that I have no idea what this is from.”

“Shhhhhh.” Charlie says, thrusting a silencing hand in the general direction of David’s mouth. “Shall we do the Gary Oldman one now?”

“We’ll need absinthe.”

Charlie grins at him, and all of a sudden he’s leaning forward and, ignoring the people watching them, he’s whispering:

“Come back to mine.”

*

When he kisses him, David is looking straight at him, like he’s peering into Charlie’s soul. It should be unsettling, Charlie thinks, but it’s the hottest thing that's ever happened to him. It makes him want to push David over onto the nearest horizontal surface and - and he’s not sure. In gay porn it always looks like they know exactly what they want and how to get there. But when he thinks about David, Charlie isn’t sure what he wants, he only knows that his dick is hard and the thought of David makes it harder. He unbuttons David’s shirt, in any case, because he’s wanted to do that for what feels like a lifetime now, and when he gets to the last button he puts both his hands on David’s chest and hears himself make a sound that’s somewhere in between a loud sigh, and wookie speech.

It’s a surprise when David pushes him back. For what is probably a brief moment, but feels like a long time, Charlie thinks David is going to leave, but then he’s up against the door of his apartment being groped in a, frankly, unexpectedly confident manner.

“Unghh.”

“Shut up, Charlie.”

And then there is one hand on his mouth, and another making its way inside Charlie’s trousers. “Oh Jesus -” he tries to say against David’s hand but it’s muffled and just makes David push against his mouth harder.

When he wakes up on the following morning, Charlie can't remember anything after that. He’s in his own bed, the sheets are awkwardly sticky, and he's naked, but his clothes are _folded on a chair_ which he can't have done himself because he's never folded his clothes after taking them off in his entire life. Just like - this. Like what he did last night. He’d never done that in his entire life either.

*

The usual cascading sequence of ~~impending dooms~~ deadlines recommences and he doesn't run into David again until the holidays. Well - until December 9th. For a taping of Big Fat Quiz. Which is aggravating enough to be the holidays.

David’s mood is bad when taping begins and get worse as the evening progresses. He never quite catches Charlie’s eye. Halfway through, Charlie mutters “if this ever ends, I don't want a glass, I’m just drinking straight from the bottle.” He means to add “I’ll get a bottle for you as well” but when he turns to look at him, David somehow looks more annoyed at the mention of alcohol, not less.

It’s a genuine surprise when David follows everyone to the bar after they're done. Charlie expected him to disappear into a taxi without saying goodbye - he bolted out of his chair the minute the cameras were off, and isn't in his dressing room when Charlie went looking for him. But there he is at the end of the bar, eyes at their darkest and most beady.

Charlie means to go join him but Claudia Winkleman corners him with commiserations about oversensitive, cranky quiz show partners and they somehow discuss pity for at least four drinks, while other people wander in and out of their discussion.

“The sympathy of the viewer will always be with the person whom they perceive to be the wronged party - the one who’s vulnerable.” The amount of utter twaddle that comes out of Charlie's mouth sometimes impresses even him. “Either because the viewer isn't given the chance to know enough of the other characters's inner lives to feel sympathy for them, or else because there is something about the main character to make them especially easy to identify with how they've been, you know, neglected or mistreated or what have you.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Claudia interjects. “The entire romance genre - always told from the point of view of the woman. Women being so much more likely to be financially, socially, legally, physically, emotionally vulnerable to men.”

“If my life is a story,” Rob Brydon suddenly appears. “Would the audience be sympathetic?”

They both turn to look at him, but Claudia answers first. “No.”

Rob wanders off.

“Anyway,” Charlie drains his glass. “That's my hypothesis as to why there aren't any love stories in which people make horrible mistakes.”

“I love it.”

“Thank you.”

“Though of course the truth is that you're concerned that there could be no great love story about someone like you.”

Charlie blinks. How very terrifyingly perceptive. “…And on that note, I’m heading to the loo.”

Which is how he nearly literally runs into David, in the hallway just outside the toilet. David stops short, and someone comes out of the loo just behind him. The other person pushes David, who then bangs into Charlie. Distantly, Charlie hears them apologize profusely, and then leaving, but he’s flush up against David and his brain doesn't work. “…uh.”

Charlie stares. He can’t look away. But he can't seem to think what he wants to say, either, and the look in David’s eyes just keep getting darker and more ominous.

And abruptly, David is pushing Charlie up against the wall opposite. Just - shoving Charlie until Charlie’s back is against the wall. Intentionally. 

He says “ _Is this what you want, Charlie_?” in a flat tone.

Charlie’s heart is suddenly racing, he gapes at David, he cannot speak, he is straining to breathe, and something about it must provoke David because he puts his hand over Charlie’s face and pushes his entire head towards the wall. “Stop _looking at me like that_.”

Charlie’s dick becomes so hard, so fast, that he can barely stand and he thinks, oh, I didn’t know being weak to the knees is something that actually physically happened to people.

“Like what?”

David moves incrementally closer, close enough that Charlie can feel his breath on his face. “Like you want me to do _this_ ,” he says, and grabs Charlie’s crotch.

“Oh _God_.”

David squeezes. “Stop it.”

Charlie hasn’t the faintest idea what’s going on but he absolutely, definitely, positively, doesn't want it to stop. He is certain of this.

“Please.” He whispers hoarsely.

“Please what?”

Charlie strains forward and tries to kiss him, but David holds him back. Holds him in place. Charlie can't reach him. 

David says, “ _Please what_?”

“Please come back to mine.”

*

Angry sex ensues, and unlike the first time, Charlie remembers every moment of it. In vivid, indelible colour. He remembers everything, from the careful distance David keeps all the way from the hallway outside the pub toilets to his flat, to the exact way David’s eyes flutter shut when he comes.

He remembers the way David pushes him onto his own bed and tells him, again, to shut up. He remembers how long David hesitates before kissing him. He remembers David’s stubble feeling like sandpaper and he remembers feeling inexperienced in a way he couldn't really explain.

Once, when Charlie Brooker was fifteen years old, he read In Search of Lost Time. It was an accident - he picked up the first volume at the library one day, and as he was flipping through it, Emily Northam from sixth form walked past him and said “oh I love Proust.” 

He soon realized that he, unlike Emily, did not love Proust. But he was bullheaded, so he read the whole thing. It left him feeling a far greater number of sentimental feelings about France than he wished to have, but more importantly, it left him with a sense that obsessive, doomed infatuations are a fundamental part of the human experience.

Which is exactly what goes through Charlie's mind the next day, when he catches himself mooning over the fresh bruises he sees in the mirror. When he catches himself strategizing about how to achieve a repeat of the previous evening. Catches himself worrying that he might not be able to convince David to do it again. He thinks: he's doomed. This is doomed. It's all doomed. He wants it.

He wants - he wants David to use him. He wants David to stare at him like he knows something, like he knows every sordid thing Charlie wants, and then tell him to shup up. And he wants him to use that rumbly commanding voice when he does it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie does his best to achieve full scale sexual obsession and David does something for the first time.

Charlie pitches a “Cruelty” episode of Relationshipwipe, because it occurs to him that perhaps there _are_ characters who do objectively terrible things but are somehow perceived as romantic heroes. It’s just that somehow, they still elicit sympathy.

The topic occurs to him one day when, whilst fighting his way through a clothing store and wishing death on every other shopper, he hears Kate Bush warbling _Wuthering, Wuthering, Wuthering Heights_ over the loudspeakers. Heathcliff still somehow garners sympathy, Charlie thinks, from some readers at least, because he’s wild and untamed. Like a child. Children are horrible creatures, but people still want to care for them? Heathcliff’s horribleness is forgiven by some readers, and then all that’s left is his fervent, visceral, passion. _Of course_ he’s romantic hero. A bloody gothic pinup.

He runs into David in January, and Charlie tries to make his intentions clear. His intentions, which are to get David back to his flat. 

He tries to manufacture a situation in which David will, as David puts it, “get pissed and lunge.” Charlie buys him a drink after the show and then brushes his hand up David’s when he passes him the glass. He stares at him from across the room. He licks his lips while maintaining eye contact.

But then: nothing. For hours, no, for _days_ , it feels like. Charlie does his best attempt at come hither eyes, at suggestive looks, at glances. David does not glance back.

By a truly unfortunate twist of his personality, David’s indifference makes Charlie want him more, not less. It adds just enough of a game element to make him annoyed that he doesn't know what’s changed in between the last time David went back to his, and now. It makes him crazy. He keeps looking at David’s blank face and getting vivid flashbacks of David confidently holding Charlie’s dick in his hands. And there’s a growing pink tinge above David’s cheekbones that somehow reminds Charlie of _exactly_ what it feels like to push his face into the crook of David’s neck and the way it smells, the way his shirt feels like starch, the way David breathes out and Charlie can feel it against his skin. And here’s David acting like none of it ever happened, and Charlie is going to fucking _lose his mind_ from arousal.

So. When something does happen, his response is… well.

“I NEVER READ WUTHERING HEIGHTS,” David shouts. It’s the music - it makes shouting into each other's ear necessary for conversation.

“RIGHT. BUT WOULD YOU AGREE, ABOUT THE IMMATURITY AND THE CRUELTY?”

David moves his head back to Charlie can hear him, gives him a look, and then goes back to shouting directly into his ear. “DO YOU ACTUALLY _WANT_ ME TO SAY ‘FOR YOU OR FOR HEATHCLIFF?’”

“NO, I DON’T NEED TO ASK.” Charlie feels giddy. He touches David’s chest as suggestively as he can. “I ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF ME.”

They’re standing very close together, which means that what happens next isn't particularly visible to anyone else. What happens is: David grips Charlie’s arm. Hard. Hard enough to bruise.

Charlie gasps “oh fuck, yeah, just like that.”

The music abruptly turns slow and quiet and someone says “last call.”

“Oh, am I correctly playing into your little scene, now?” David says, tightening his grip. He sounds scornful.

Charlie feels turned on enough that his vision blurs. “What?”

“What are you - what exactly do you think is happening here, Charlie? That you’re going to bat your eyelashes at me every time you happen to see me, and I’ll follow you home? Like a puppy?”

“Please.” Charlie says between heaving breaths. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything but _leave me alone_.”

The words hit him like cold water. Somehow he’d thought David’s resistance was some form of embarrassment over intimacy with Charlie and his horse face. The kind of embarrassment Charlie vaguely associated with masturbation as a teen - something you enjoy but also feel as though you’re not _supposed_ to enjoy. He hadn’t thought David genuinely didn't want to spend time with him.

He must be telegraphing his thoughts via his facial expression because David releases his arm and says, “Look, just, stop mucking about and tell me what you want. Just - say it. Without spending half the night making eyes at me like you want me to guess.”

Charlie nods enthusiastically. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

*

When they get to Charlie’s flat, Charlie leans in for a kiss but David stops him.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you want. Don't muck about. Say it.”

“Sorry?”

David shakes his head. “You said you would do anything I want. What do you think you’ll get in return?”

Charlie feels himself flush hotly. “I…”

“A lovely chat and a cup of tea? Is that why you’ve taken me here?”

Charlie gapes.

“Oh, you're speechless now? That’s new. You weren't above begging, earlier.”

Charlie moves his mouth but nothing comes out.

David slaps him.

“BLOODY HELL!”

 _What do you want, Charlie_?

“I WANT YOU TO USE ME!”

*

Helplessly, awkwardly, half losing his balance in the entryway, he tries to kiss David again with their coats still on and the lights still off. Tries to pull him into his arms. Tries to -

David pushes him away.

“No! Don’t -” Don’t change your mind, Charlie thinks, don’t walk out the door.

But David doesn't walk out the door. He just takes a breath and then stops, like he wants to say something but doesn't know how. And Charlie suddenly can’t bear the idea of rational thought intruding on this. He can’t, he just can’t.

Out of an instinct he absolutely did not know he had, Charlie gets down on his knees. Right there, next to the coat rack, he slides down the wall, pulling at David’s trousers as he goes.

“Fuck my face,” he says, before any rational discussion can occur.

“Charlie!” David cries out. “I don’t actually know how to - I’ve never done this before.”

“I know.” He fumbles insistently with David’s trousers. Now that it might not happen, Charlie desperately, desperately wants to suck his cock.

“You _know_?”

He licks his lips and paws at the bulge in David’s trousers, huge and hard and inaccessible. “You told me before shooting, remember? That you’d never been with a man.”

“Oh, that’s not - I meant I’d never -“ David clears his throat, and looks down at Charlie. “I’ve never _dominated_ anyone.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“I want to.”

“ _Oh_ ”

“I just don’t -“

This is, inexplicably, the hottest thing Charlie has ever heard. “That’s fine! That’s. Fine.”

“Right.” David takes hold of the hand Charlie has on his crotch, and pushes it away. Charlie lets it fall to his side. He finds a position on his knees and waits.

Davis then moves his hands towards his belt. Sets the tips of his fingers down on the buckle. And for a moment he doesn't move and everything becomes still. Very still.

Every time they’ve been together before - every time Charlie remembers, anyway. - they stuck their tongues in each other’s mouths, took their clothes off, and either masturbated or pulled each other off. But this - this is about to be something completely different.

David’s posture shifts a bit and, never takes his eyes off Charlie, he moves to undo his belt. He pulls down his trousers, his pants. He takes his cock in his hand. It’s so close, so big, right in Charlie’s face. Distantly, some part of his brain notes that it looks nothing like his own.

And then David squeezes the base of his cock, aims it at Charlie’s mouth, and pushes in. 

Charlie can’t quite concentrate at first, with the voice in his head saying ‘there is a cock in your mouth. There is a cock in your mouth. You are sucking cock. This is real. You are sucking cock,’ but then he becomes aware that David likes it. David is making helpless noises and involuntary movements and his dick is hard, so hard. He’s sliding it in and out of Charlie's mouth like it’s a religious experience.

*

If he’d given it any thought, he would have imagined that sleeping with David would satisfy the craving he felt for a few days. But it seems to have had the opposite effect. He means to wait a week before calling him, but by the third day, every wall he sees looks like surface David could push him up against, that he could slide down, that his head could bump up against while David fucks his face, and it’s… well.

Anyway, Charlie thinks, it’s a good thing that what he and David are doing isn't - well it isn't _real_ , is it? If it was real he’d be paralyzed by the fear of saying something slightly out of place, something unimaginative, something insufficiently clever. He’d be paralyzed by the fear that David would be annoyed, or worse, bored by him. But that’s not what this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood!
> 
> Come hang out with me [on tumblr](https://the-emef.tumblr.com/).


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